


Partnership

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair work toward a deeper understanding of themselves and their partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partnership

**Author's Note:**

> A version of this story was slated to be episode 8 of the slash virtual season, but due to differences with the exec. comm., I withdrew it. I dedicate it to all who wrote me and said, "Please post it anyway. We wanna reeeeaaaaddd it." 

## Partnership

by J M Griffin

Author's disclaimer: They belong to us all, do they not? Now if only we could have convinced the TV execs. of this, we could have that fifth season in truth. 

* * *

Partnership  
by J. M. Griffin 

If any ordinary person had been in the loft apartment at 852 Prospect, they would have barely heard the answering machine pick up over the din of the storm that lashed and spit outside the balcony windows. Once the Ellison/Sandburg identification message played, the voice of an older man came on. 

"Jimmy... son, this is your dad. Listen son, you remember Franklin Holden, my former business partner? Well, he died yesterday. Thing is, they're trying to say he died of natural causes, but I don't believe it. Last time I saw Frank, he, well, truth to tell, he just seemed scared. I thought he was just being an old fool, but now with this happening, I think maybe..." 

The beep went off signaling the forced end of the message. The storm continued to rage outside as the message light flashed like a beacon in the dark room. 

* * *

The cadets in the lecture hall at the Cascade Police Academy were restless. Several fidgeted in their seats as the instructor droned on about rules and regulations. But one student in the last row sat totally rapt, watching both the students and the professor, as he scribbled notes with what appeared to be unholy glee. At first glance, this particular student looked no different from any of the others. But upon close inspection, an observant person could see the young man's shirt, while dark blue, was not quite the same as the rest of the class. Furthermore, he wore two silver earrings in his left ear and his hair was not buzzed short like the others, but caught up in a pony-tail in the back. 

Finally, the instructor wound up his lecture and dismissed the class. Noise erupted in the room as the would-be cops grabbed their stuff and got out while the getting was good. Another day at the academy thankfully over. 

It was raining hard with no sign of let-up as Blair Sandburg made a dash for the blue and white Ford truck that awaited him at the curb. When he neared the vehicle, the door swung open as if by magic and Blair started talking almost before he was into the truck. 

"Hey, Jim, I'm sorry, but I'm soaked here. Your seat is never gonna be the same..." 

Jim Ellison shoved a towel at his friend and lover. "I came prepared, Chief. You didn't think I was gonna let you soak my seats, did you?" But the towel was obviously for Blair's benefit, not the truck's and behind the towel that he was using to sop up the moisture from his hair, Blair could be found smiling. 

"You look like a drowned rat," Jim said, with a grin of his own. 

"Oh thanks. After the hassles I had with the Volvo breaking down today, I really didn't need that cheap shot." Blair gave Jim a sour look. 

"What, Sandburg, ya can't hack even one day at the academy?" Jim teased, as he carefully eased the truck into the stream of traffic. He purposely didn't mention the Volvo. He'd been trying to get Blair to trade it in for something more reliable, and, as it was a bone of contention between them, he left the topic alone. 

"Yes, well, thank god it's only for a few days and not three months. If I ever thought I could fit in at the academy, these last two days sure have disavowed me of that notion. I mean, it's interesting, but it's so not me." 

Jim looked over at his friend and shook his head. "I'm really glad Simon figured out a way to get you back with me at the station, Chief." 

"Me too." 

It wasn't long before the truck pulled up in front of the building they called home. 

"Whoa, lucky us, a parking place in front!" Blair crowed, but by the time they had gotten out and into the building, they were both soaked to the skin. The two men began peeling off clothing almost as soon as they entered the loft. Blair shrugged out of his wet over-shirt, revealing an equally wet long-sleeved tee. Jim slipped off his jacket and hung it up. The front of his shirt was soaked through and he pulled it from his chest with an "ugh." 

Blair struggled to pull off the long sleeved tee only to lose his grip half way through the process. Jim turned from hanging up his coat to see Blair struggling. With a chuckle, Jim stepped over and grabbed the edge of Blair's shirt and whipped it the rest of the way off. 

"Whew, thanks man," Blair shook his head and rain drops spattered down on the floor; a few drops hitting Jim. 

"Hey, watch it," the bigger man began unbuttoning his shirt and Blair attacked his own next layer a short sleeved tee. Jim whisked off his shirt and had started to pull at his tee-shirt, when he stopped. Blair's tee was coming up, revealing, first, a sleek furred belly and the shadow of ribs. Tugging on the damp shirt, his face covered, Blair sucked in his breath making his belly concave so that his pants rode down a notch on his hips. Stopped in mid-motion, Jim watched this fascinating process with all the intensity of a cat stalking prey. Blair's shirt came up further and his nipple ring glinted in the light. Jim held his breath as Blair exhaled. Muscled shoulders and upper arms were bared as Blair brought his shirt over his head and off. He looked up to see Jim staring at him, the taller man's eyes shining with lust. Blair licked his lips and Jim leaned toward him, coming closer, closer. 

Jim groaned and reached out a hand around to the back of Blair's head, as he angled down for a kiss. Their mouths came together, hot and sweet as rain on a summer's day. Blair's shirt fell from nerveless fingers and he sighed as he let his whole body slump against his lover's. The two men wound themselves about one another, kissing hungrily, their breathing harsh and fast. They stayed that way for an age, kissing again and again, unable to get enough of one another, until a crack of lightning and crash of thunder brought them back to awareness. They broke apart, Blair stumbling back a step and looking up at Jim. 

The Sentinel's eyes were closed, but the look on his face was one of absolute bliss. Then Jim's eyes fluttered open and he blushed a bit, but Blair put his hand up to Jim's mouth. 

"Shhh," Blair said softly. "I love you, too." 

Jim made a tiny sound of need and suddenly the two were wound together again, this time totally oblivious to the storm outside. 

* * *

Blair groaned when the alarm went off. He rolled over with a sigh and hit the snooze button, then rolled back into his niche against his sentinel's side. 

"You hit the snooze button." Jim muttered into Blair's curls. 

"Yeah." 

"Like nine minutes is going to make a big difference, Chief." 

"Shuddup, you're wasting my nine minutes," Blair retorted muzzily. 

Jim was dutifully silent as he began to nuzzle his lover's neck, flicking his tongue against Blair's skin, tasting his sweat. He rolled the taste on his tongue, relishing it, then licked again, going lower, making a trail to Blair's nipple. 

"Ummmmm," Blair said, just as the phone rang. "Don't stop." 

Jim obeyed his guide. After four rings, the answering machine picked up and William Ellison's voice reverberated in the loft. 

"Jimmy? You there, son? I really need to talk to you." 

Jim groaned, wondering if he was going to be plagued by early morning calls from his father for the rest of his life. Rolling over on top of Blair, Jim reached for the phone. 

"Hey, Dad, I'm here. Urmph." The last bit was due to Blair pushing at him to maneuver out from under Jim's bulk. 

"You got someone with you, son?" Jim's father's voice held a hint of a smile. 

Jim opened his mouth to answer, his mind racing for what to say. The relationship was so new, they hadn't told many people. Fortunately William didn't expect an answer and kept talking. "I called last night. Did you get my message?" 

"Yes, but by that time it was much too late for me to call you back. Listen, Dad, I need to go into the station to wrap something up, but then I can come to the house and we'll talk." 

"Frank is... was... Jewish, so the funeral is today at three thirty. Come with me to the service, please, son?" 

Jim had never heard his father use such a helpless tone of voice before. It sounded almost like a child's and it made Jim think that his father was getting old. "Okay, Pop. I'll come over. I'll call you from the station before I leave." 

* * *

The Major Crime bullpen was unusually quiet for a Wednesday morning. Simon and Megan had just left for a ten day symposium in San Diego where exchange cops were a hot topic of interest. Taggart, in charge once again, was spending most of the morning behind Simon's desk on the phone. Detectives Rafe and Brown were out doing some footwork for a case and, with Blair working on his new dissertation and observing at the academy again, Jim had no excuse not to reduce the stack of paper work that always seemed to pile up on his desk. At noon, he left to go pick up Blair. He was on the phone with his father as Blair hopped into the truck. 

"Okay, I'm on my way," he told the older man. "Oh, and Dad, I'll have Blair with me." 

"All right, son. See you when you get here." 

Jim put the phone into Blair's proffered hand. 

"Are we going to tell people?" Blair blurted out of the blue. "Besides my mom and Eli, I mean. Are we going to tell your father? What about Simon?" Megan, Joel, Rafe, Henri? 

Blair leaned toward Jim as he spoke, an unconscious movement, almost as if he were seeking comfort. Jim swivelled his head to look at Blair, then turned back to the rainy road beyond the windshield. 

"Stoddard knows?" 

"Suspects, I think. I haven't said anything to him." 

"S' that what you want, Chief? To let everyone know?" 

"Nooo, yes, I don't know. What about you?" 

Jim hesitated before answering. "I think... I think maybe we should wait. It can be really tough to come out at the station. Hal Robertson did it a couple of years ago and everyone treated him like a leper." 

"But now he's the president of Gay and Lesbian Cops of Cascade." 

"It isn't an easy transition to make, but, yes, it can be done." 

"Let's wait," Blair said suddenly, his voice very sure. Jim shot him a look. 

"Okay, Chief, you call the shots on this one. I'll just be the one along for the ride." The big cop smiled. 

"Works for me." 

Jim shook his head at the odd look on his partner's face; it was obvious Blair had some thinking to do. Taking that into consideration, Jim wasn't sure whether to be worried or not. 

Before long they had reached the senior Ellison's "home on the hill." Somehow any visit to Jim's father's house made Blair nervous. He made himself breathe slowly and calmly as they drove up into the driveway. Beside him, he heard Jim take a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. It was obvious that neither one of them was completely at ease about this visit. 

Sally, William's long time housekeeper, answered the door. William was waiting for them in the sitting room. Though he had seen him only a month or so ago, it struck Jim that his father looked different. Was he actually grayer? Frailer? Or was it that the death of his friend had hit him so hard, the older man had registered it on a physical level? 

William stood and greeted his son with a handshake, then looked at Blair and stuck out his hand toward him as well. 

"So, you're Jim's partner now." William said, and for a moment Blair's heart stopped as he thought crazily, "He knows! He knows and he doesn't mind!" Then William continued, "I figured after that fiasco at the University you would have to find another job. I'm glad they found you a position at the police station. I suppose I never said thank you for what you did for Jim. And I'm sorry for what you lost. More than just a job, I know..." 

Suddenly the older Ellison seemed to run out of words and he cleared his throat nervously. 

A bit flustered to hear Jim's father speak of the events that had happened only a few months (and a lifetime) ago, Blair muttered, "Oh, that's okay, thanks. I'm not really Jim's partner, just a consultant." 

"He is my partner, Pop, just like you said, no matter what title they give him." Jim said quietly. 

There was an awkward pause, but then Jim spoke up again. 

"Tell me what happened to Frank Holden. Where was he when he died and who found him? Was there an autopsy?" 

"No, no autopsy was done." William cleared his throat again. "Frank had a heart problem and his doctor chalked his death up to that. But Jimmy, you are going to think I'm crazy when I tell you why I don't think his death was natural. You see, I had a dream the night before he died. In it Franklin was calling out to me, begging me to help him. I tried to call him on the phone the next day, that was Monday morning, but I never got through. Then Monday evening around nine, I got a call from Julia, his wife, you know, and she said he'd been found in his study around six p.m., presumed dead from a heart attack. I can't shake the feeling there was something I should have done. If I'd gone to his home on Monday, maybe I could have prevented his death." 

"Maybe, maybe not," Blair said softly, shaking his head. 

"Will you go with me to the funeral and then to the Holden's home? Maybe you'll find something the others couldn't find. Or maybe I'm just a crazy old man who had a bad dream." William shrugged his shoulders, then let them slump in resignation. 

Jim sat looking at his father for a few minutes. Then he gave himself a shake. "Sure Dad, I'll go and see what I can find. Blair, if we hurry, we have just enough time to drop you off at the loft on our way." 

"No, no, I'd like to come with you. If that's all right with you, Mr. Ellison." 

"That will be fine," William said in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. 

* * *

The huge living room in the Holden home was suffocatingly warm, with many people milling about, speaking in low murmurs. Blair was glad he had worn something besides flannel, but he still felt a bit under-dressed amidst the affluent crowd of Franklin Holden's friends. Across the room, Jim was talking earnestly with Julia Holden, a slim, silver-haired woman in her early sixties. It seemed doubtful that Jim would learn much from her. Frankly, Blair found himself wondering why they were there at all. Except, of course, to bolster William Ellison. He seemed almost more upset about Holden's death than the man's widow. 

Blair shook his head slightly, trying to reconcile his current image of Jim's father with the sharp, savvy businessman who had helped them out during an tricky embezzlement case only a month ago. William seemed to had aged, to have drawn in on himself, in a very short period of time. Blair was a bit surprised that the death of a colleague had affected him so. Perhaps it was simply that this was the first of the senior Ellison's contemporaries to die and the man was having trouble rationalizing it in his mind. Or maybe Frank Holden had been a very close friend and William was grieving deeply. 

Blair watched as William went over to Jim and began speaking intently at him. Jim shook his head, pressing his lips in a thin line that signaled trouble to Blair. He knew it was time to join the pair. 

"Son, I know what you're thinking, but I'm not a crazy old man." William was saying as Blair came up. "There's more to it than I told you before. Let's go someplace else and I'll give you the details." Jim nodded, but his mouth remained in a tight line as they said their good-byes and made their way out of the house. 

"Okay, Dad, give," Jim said when they were all seated in William's car. 

William only sighed, then took a deep breath. "All right. Look, last month Franklin called me and told me someone was blackmailing him. I promised I would help him. He came over and we came up with a strategy we thought would work. To exonerate him from the trumped up charges of the blackmailer, you see. Frank was greatly relieved, but he was also innocent of the charges. It was a matter of producing old records from our time as partners, and we managed to do just that. I thought everything was resolved, but then Frank called me to tell me there was something else and before I got back to him, he was dead. I think someone murdered him. I don't think his death was natural at all." 

"Wow," Blair said softly from the back seat. 

"All right," Jim said after a few minutes of silence. "Now tell us what Holden was being blackmailed for." 

William closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke. "He was accused of buying a painting that had been stolen from a Jewish family during World War II. The blackmailer said he had proof that Frank knew the painting was stolen and had bought it anyway. Frank was mortified. He comes from a wealthy, well-known, Jewish family and was very active in the Jewish community. He didn't want such a story to besmirch his family name." 

"It wasn't true, anyway. I found the records the gallery had given him. We had bought the painting, the company, I mean, as an investment. Franklin took it, as part of our agreement, when we dissolved out partnership." 

"Did Mr. Holden say what the new threat was?' Jim asked softly. 

"No, no he didn't. I wish I had gone over there immediately when I got that message, but I didn't. I waited, then I had the dream and when I called it was too late." William ground to a halt and sat slumped for a moment before he straightened up and started the car. 

It was after ten when Jim and Blair got home. They had ridden back to William's house and stayed for a bit, but it was obvious the elder man was tired and they left without learning anything more. 

"You know," Blair said as he trudged up the stairs to the bedroom, more than a little weary after the long day, "I'm beginning to like your dad." 

Jim gave a wry grin from where he stood on the other side of the bed, neatly folding his dirty clothes. "Me too," he admitted, then gave a huge yawn. 

Blair laughed and to Jim the sound was quicksilver and suddenly he no longer felt tired. They fell into bed together, but it was a long time before either man fell asleep. 

* * *

The next morning Jim woke before the alarm went off. He lay very still for a bit, savoring the feel of Blair curled up beside him. A year ago he never would have guessed he'd be where he was today. If anyone had told him he and Blair would be lovers, he wouldn't have believed it. Not that he hadn't wanted it to be. Oh, he'd wanted this for a very long time. He just hadn't let himself acknowledge the need. It gave him great joy to do so now, if only in his own head. 

Jim let his eyes scan down the line of Blair's body under the blanket, then he surveyed his own body, as well. They fit. They fit together in this bed that had always seemed too small to him. Too small, too cold, too lonely. Now it was a special place, a place of succor, sanctuary, safe harbor. He gave a lascivious grin as he thought of where he'd "harbored" the night before, deep in the port of Blair's body. With Blair and within Blair, he was home. 

With that thought, Jim smiled contentedly, stretched and slid out of bed. He'd promised his father they'd go look at Frank Holden's study, which was located in a small "mother-in-law" cottage behind the main house. The officer who had conducted (and closed) the investigation, was an old acquaintance of his from Vice who had moved on to Homicide. Schaeffer had agreed to let them into the building and on to the crime scene, but only if they came early in the morning, as he was on the night shift. 

Jim showered, shaved, and dressed, careful not to wake Blair. Before he left he went to lightly kiss his lover's forehead in goodbye. Blair stirred and cracked one eye. 

"Umm." 

"I love you too, Chief." 

"Yep." 

"You have another hour or so to sleep before the alarm goes off. You still okay with taking the bus to the academy? I'll give you a call if I can get away for lunch, okay?" 

"Y'better." 

"Then after work we can go by and pick up your car." 

"Won't be ready." 

"How come? They'll have had it two days." 

"Dunno." 

Jim chuckled. "Go back to sleep. I'll call you when you're coherent." 

"Love youm..." 

"Yeah." 

Jim left the loft with a smile on his face. 

After the front door had shut and Jim was gone, Blair shifted in bed, snagging Jim's pillow and adding it to his own under his head. Blair inhaled deeply and made a soft, contented sound. He closed his eyes, intent on going back to sleep. But he couldn't, his feeling of contentment was just too fine to waste sleeping. He decided to lie back and revel in it. He'd felt many things in his life. Feeling things, and feeling them intently, was his wont. But this, this was something beyond his ken. To be loved like this. For it to be such a deep and abiding thing. He felt buoyed and anchored by it all at the same time. Blair smiled to himself at his analogy. He'd always thought himself a rolling stone. There was a poem he loved by that very name, by the Canadian poet, Robert Service. How did it go again? 

To pitch my tent with no prosy plan,  
To range and to change at will;  
To mock at the mastership of man,  
To seek Adventure's thrill. 

He found he no longer mocked the mastership of man, no longer chafed against the bindings of love. He would not "go a-roaming on until the day I die." Adventure's thrill was combining his life with that of a man who would not cramp his soul. Sprawled in Jim's bed, now their bed, Blair smiled as he dredged up more of the poem. 

To trudge at his side whate'er betide;  
To share his fire at night;  
To call him friend to the long trail end,  
And to read his heart aright. 

He knew he was reading Jim's heart "aright," as well as his own. Finally, finally, they were right with each other. Jim had changed. Blair himself changed. He'd changed direction, he'd changed (or maybe just expanded) sexual orientation. But more importantly, he wasn't a careless rover any longer. He loved. He was loved. The whole world was exactly the same and an entirely different place. 

Blair fell back to sleep with a bemused smile on his face and dreamed he and Jim were hiking together through a jungle, flanked by panther and wolf. He woke to the alarm going off, but even that didn't wipe the smile from his face. 

* * *

It was starting to rain as Detective Martin Schaeffer opened the door to the Holden's cottage. Jim stepped into the little house and looked about. It was similar to an efficiency apartment, but what should have been the bedroom area was instead a classic gentleman's study. There was a massive desk, its top inlayed with different color woods, and a tall leather chair behind it. A computer rested on a side table, as the desktop was waxed to a brilliant sheen and no one would dare mar that beautiful inlay with a computer monitor and tower. 

Jim looked over his shoulder to find his father had come in the door after him and stopped short. William hovered there, obviously ill at ease, and Schaeffer was kind enough to strike up a conversation with the older man. Jim lifted his head and sniffed the air. A strange odor hung in the room, a mixture of cigar smoke and something else; though it was faint and neither William or Martin seemed to notice it. Jim stepped up to the desk, stopping briefly to view an adjacent wall filled with pictures: Franklin and William, both much, much younger, shaking hands over some deal. Holden and his wife all dressed up for an evening out. A picture of Holden and a teenage boy on a boat in the bay. The boy had to be the Holden's nephew, as the couple had no children.. Jim thought he might have met the young man, who was now in his early twenties, at the gathering last night. 

Jim moved behind the desk and pulled on a pair of gloves. Then he pulled the chair away from the desk. Here the smell of cigar smoke was even thicker, but as Jim leaned toward the desk it was another smell entirely that hit him. He staggered back, then quickly looked up to see if the two at the door had noticed. 

People often had a release of body function when they were in extremis, and since Franklin Holden had suffered a heart attack, the smell of urine was to be expected. But this was not what had caused Jim's reaction. He shook his head like a dog and allowed himself another whiff. The smell wasn't something he could catalogue easily, but if he had to, Jim could only call it one thing, the odor of fear. 

Quickly, he turned to the computer and flicked it on by the power strip at his feet. It came on quickly, being a new and powerful machine. Jim popped in a disk and typed in a series of commands he had learned from Blair and, in a few moments, Holden's most recent entries came up as a list on the screen. Jim marked files he was seeking and copied them. By the time he finished, Schaeffer was looking at him in interest, if not alarm. 

"Hey, Ellison, what are you messing with over there? I said you could look around, not make yourself at home." But he didn't object when Jim ejected the disk and tucked it into his pocket. 

"That's it, Martin. I'm done. Thanks for letting us in," Jim said as he turned off the computer and came out from behind the desk. 

"Well, it's not really a crime scene since it was ruled death by natural causes. Ordinarily, we wouldn't have been called, but Holden was well thought of in the community and the captain wanted us to cover all the bases. Anyway, I needed to give the key back to Mrs. Holden this morning, so no big deal." 

"Still," Jim said as he shook the Homicide cop's hand in thanks, "I owe you one." 

"I'll remember that, Ellison. Don't think I won't." 

Before his father could protest, Jim swept him out the cottage door and across the lawn to the truck. When they were out the big gates of the Holden estate, William looked over at Jim sharply. "Okay, son, spill it. What did you find on Frank's computer?" 

Jim got straight to the point. "Dad, could Franklin's nephew have been the one blackmailing him?" 

William's look grew even sharper. "Benjamin? Well, anything is possible, but I find that hard to believe. After his brother died years ago, Franklin practically raised the boy. Why? What did you find that made you ask such a question?" 

"A file I just found imported from another computer. It's encrypted. I can't open it, but it's labeled "Benjamin Holden." 

"Ben would hardly advertize it, if the blackmail were his doing." 

"Well, maybe whatever is inside the file will give us a clue. Do you want to come with me to the station or shall I take you back home? 

"I'll go with you to the station for a while, I think. I assume you have the equipment needed to look into this at work." 

"Yes, though we might have to wait until Sandburg gets out of class in order to break into the file without damaging the information inside. He's the real computer whiz. Most of what I know about this particular program, I learned from him." 

"I didn't realize Sandburg was taking classes at Rainier again," William commented. 

"He isn't. He was reinstated into the doctoral program there, but he doesn't have any classes per se. Just a doctoral seminar to keep track of his new dissertation. It only meets about once a month." Jim explained. "Right now, he's auditing classes at the police academy. His new diss has to do with closed societies namely, the police force." 

Jim looked over at his father to see a thoughtful look cross his face, but the older man kept his counsel on whatever was going on in his mind and they rode the rest of the way in silence. 

* * *

Jim ended up dropping William off at home when he went to get Blair that afternoon. 

"I'm sorry to drag you out of class early, Chief, but I really need you on this." Jim said as he maneuvered the truck from the curb. 

"Hey, it's not like I'm going to lose any pay or get written up or anything." Blair said flippantly, causing Jim to take his eyes from traffic to give him a quick look. 

Jim was relieved to see there was no rancor or sarcasm behind Blair's light comment. No "would have, should have, could have." The clear steady gaze in Blair's eyes was totally untroubled. So Jim just gave a little grin and said, "I guess not," as he sped up to go around a slow poke car in front of him. 

They entered Major Crimes to find it was unusually busy and loud for a weekday afternoon. Blair took a look through the blinds of the captain's office and shook his head at what he saw. Taggart was sitting behind the desk talking animatedly on the phone, oblivious to cacophony in the bullpen. 

"Joel's never going to make it as a full fledged captain if he doesn't learn to bellow for quiet like Simon." Jim snickered at the remark as he plunked down at his desk. "Listen, Chief, this is how it is..." 

Jim's voice trailed off at the sound of raised voices coming from the break room. Jim and Blair were not the only ones to swing their attention that way. There was a thump and a wham, somebody had obviously whacked the vending machine. Grins were exchanged, and people were turning back to their work, when the voices started up again. This wasn't a disagreement with the machine after all. 

"Fine, I'll do it myself then!" 

Blair was surprised when he realized it was Rafe doing the shouting. There was another thump; this was Rafe's shoulder hitting the door as he stormed out of the break room. 

"Shit." Rafe's partner, Henri obviously wasn't particularly happy either. He came out of the break room a few moments later and the cops, at least, quickly looked away. 

"Whoa, what was that about?" Blair whispered, leaning close to Jim. The cop shrugged his shoulders. 

"Something about how they were going to handle the Jergen's case. I wasn't really paying attention, so their conversation was just part of the background noise until Rafe's outburst." 

It was unusual for Brown to be anything less than sanguine, so Jim kept an ear on him as he and Blair went back to work combing through the stuff from the disk Jim had made in Holden's study. It was maybe ten minutes later when Henri slammed down his phone and shifted violently in his chair, causing both Jim and Blair to look his way. Every eye was once again on Henri Brown as he cursed under his breath and lurched from behind his desk. 

"I think Rafe got his way after all." Blair commented as Brown stormed out of the bullpen. 

"Henri's worried. He thinks Rafe's gotten too emotional about the case, that he's not thinking like a cop." Jim ran a hand to smooth back his hair, as laughter and comments flew around the room. 

A thought hit Blair as he heard Kay Wells comment loudly that apparently not only women got PMS. "Everybody watches when we fight too, don't they?" 

It wasn't really a question, but Jim nodded in response anyway. "And they all have their opinion about what's going on." 

Blair swivelled in his chair and looked up into Jim's eyes. "Sometimes I'm glad I'm not the sentinel." 

Jim snorted, "Sentinel or not, it pays to have a tough hide around here." 

"Don't I know it," Blair agreed. 

Taggart stuck his head out his borrowed office. "Needs to simmer down in here," he thundered to the room at large. "Or maybe somebody doesn't have enough work to do." He cast a meaningful eye on Detective Wells. 

The noise level immediately reduced several decibels. 

"Well, what do you know," Jim said into the near silence, "looks like Taggart's been taking bellowing lessons." 

The resulting snickers were suitably subdued, which made Blair crack up. 

"Shhh," Jim admonished. "You tryin' to get me in trouble with the captain or something?" He smacked Blair on the shoulder, which only caused Blair to laugh harder. Joel stuck his head out the door, saw it was Blair doing the cackling and merely shook his head, then ducked back into the office. 

"Captain's pet." Jim hissed. It was some time before the two got back to the serious business of computer file hacking. 

* * *

"Okay," Blair said, waving his spoon over his bowl of beef stew. "I agree with your father's opinion that it wasn't Benjamin, but I have this crazy feeling he comes into play here somewhere. How old did you say he is?" 

"I didn't." Jim finished slathering his cornbread muffin with healthy butter substitute. It was made with yoghurt and it was really pretty decent, plus it passed Sandburg inspection criteria, so Jim could have as much of it as he liked. "But last night I heard him tell someone he was twenty-two." 

"Hmmm," Blair went back to eating and thinking and Jim ate his cornbread and watched Blair. Sandburg was cute when he was thinking. Jim schooled himself not to smile at the thought. There were times when he didn't mind revealing stuff like this to his partner, but now, when Blair was in serious case-solving mode, was not the time. So he picked up another cornbread muffin, and since Blair didn't object and make him put it back, he knew his assessment of Blair's degree of concentration was correct. 

"Okay," Blair said again, one cornbread muffin later. "Let me run some stuff by you. Just listen, no matter how preposterous any of it sounds. You can ask questions and try to debunk my theory later." 

Jim nodded his assent. 

"There was no autopsy because the family doctor signed off on the death certificate." Blair began as he picked up his bowl and headed for the sink. "You can't be sure, but you tend to agree with the report saying Franklin died of natural causes." 

Jim nodded again and reached for a third muffin. 

"I don't think so," Blair commented without a change in tone, then continued his discourse. "You say you smelled something odd in the study. Intense fear, terror. Right?" He nodded absently as Jim put the muffin back down. "Embedded in the letter we found from the person we think was blackmailing Holden was the cryptic note, "Sixty-seven minus twenty-two makes a big problem for you." 

Suddenly, Jim began to see where this was going. "Benjamin is twenty-two. Holden was sixty-seven on his last birthday," he said as he started clearing his bowl and utensils from the table. 

"And Franklin treated his nephew like a son?" Blair looked up from putting away the left-overs. "So maybe he _is_ his son." 

Jim shot Blair a smile of approval. "Not bad, Sherlock, not bad at all." 

Blair shrugged, trying not to look too pleased. "It's just a hunch. I could be wrong." 

"It's better than nothing," Jim assured him, "which is all I was coming up with. I think I better call my father." 

"No way, man." Blair protested. "At least, not until you do the dishes. Hey, I cooked. It's only fair." 

* * *

William was out when Jim phoned, so he ended up leaving a message with Sally for his father to call. Blair had notes to transcribe from his day at the academy, and Jim had some bills to pay, so they both settled down for a cozy evening in. 

Jim sat at his desk and opened his credit card bill. The payment for Blair's tuition was due. Jim made out the check and stuffed it in the envelope rather hastily. It wasn't a huge amount in his book, and they had discussed it more than once. Still, Jim knew Blair was less than happy about this, and things were going so smoothly between them Jim just didn't want to bring it up right now. 

"Hey, Jim," Despite the fact that he'd heard Blair come up behind him, Jim jumped when he spoke and the envelope went flying to the floor. Blair bent down to retrieve it, glanced at the return address and grimaced. "My tuition payment?" 

"Yes," Jim said tersely. He knew his jaw was twitching, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. 

Blair reached out and caressed his jawline. "Hmmm," he purred and suddenly it wasn't Jim's jaw that was twitching. "I wonder how I will ever repay you for that." Blair gave a cursory nod at the envelope he had placed with the stack of paid bills on the desk. He pushed at Jim's shoulder, and both man and chair canted away from the desk. Blair swung one leg over Jim, sat down on his lap, and began to unbutton Jim's shirt with one hand as he traced his jaw with the other. 

"I can think of several wa...," Jim started to say, then caught in his breath as Blair licked his way down his neck to his collar bone. "Damn, Sandburg, do that again." 

Blair laughed and bent his head further to lick at Jim's now exposed left nipple. 

"It was a huge bill," Jim gasped out. "Almost broke the bank." 

"Mmmm," Blair replied, his breath fanning out across Jim's chest, making delicious ripples on his flesh. "Then it might take me years to repay the debt." 

"I can only hope." 

Blair slid off Jim's lap to kneel before him on the floor. He worked the button and zip of Jim's jeans, and Jim helped by lifting his ass off the chair as Blair slid his pants down and off one foot. Blair nuzzled between Jim's legs, mouthing the white cotton boxers Jim still wore. Then he slid them down until they hooked below Jim's turgid balls. 

Jim's cock was a sleek tower jutting up and Blair gave a wicked grin and came up on his knees to hover over it. His hair cascaded into Jim's lap and Jim used both hands to hold it away from Blair's face as he watched his lover engulf him. 

Blair began a slow, steady pumping, working his tongue in ways that he had never done before. 

"Ahhh, shit," Jim said, a deep, guttural moan of words. It wasn't long before he shot into Blair's mouth. Blair stayed there for a moment, drinking him down, then sat back on his haunches to grin like a cat tasting cream. Jim would have laughed at the thought if he hadn't been so sated. He leaned forward and down to catch Blair's reddened lips in a deep kiss, finding the taste of himself on Blair's tongue to be just short of heaven, heaven being Blair's taste on his tongue. 

And then the damn phone began to ring and ring. Finally, the message machine picked up. 

"Jim, are you there? It's your father. Sally said you called." 

Blair began to laugh, but Jim just kept on kissing him. His father would have to wait. 

* * *

They were running late the next morning. (It had been Blair's suggestion that they shower together, so he was taking full responsibility for their lateness, regardless of the fact that it was Jim who said "Do that again.") So, they were on their way into the station when the police radio in Jim's car crackled to life shortly after nine. 

"This is David Three-Five. Officer down, I repeat, Officer down. Officer needs assistance at the corner of Green and Broad Street." 

"Damn, Jim, that was Henri." Blair sputtered, as he grabbed the radio mic. 

"This is Echo Seven, responding to the call for assistance." 

"That's affirmative, Echo Seven. All units in the vicinity of the intersection of Green and Broad Street. Officer needs assistance," the slightly nasal voice of the woman on the radio announced loudly. By that time, Jim had already done a very illegal u-turn and was in the process of running a red light. 

They were only a few blocks away on Green Avenue when Blair heard the pop of gunfire. Jim put his foot to the floor and his arm across Blair's chest as they screeched through the turn onto Broad. A man was pelting down the street with Henri Brown in hot pursuit. Jim slammed the truck to a stop that swung the bed of the truck toward the culprit. The guy practically ran smack into the truck. Before he could change direction, Jim was out of the truck, gun drawn, shouting "Police, drop your weapon." Blair saw the semi-automatic drop from the man's hand and clatter to the ground before he got out of the truck and ran over to Henri. The black cop's face was ashen and his hands shook slightly as he pointed his gun toward the man on the ground. 

"Henri, Henri," Blair said softly, but sharply enough to cut through the man's adrenaline- fogged brain. "Where's Rafe?" 

Henri jerked around to look at Blair. "Oh God," he said, and whirled on his heel and dashed back the way he had come. Blair turned to see that Jim had the man on the ground and in handcuffs, then he raced down the street after Brown. 

"You stupid dumb shit." Henri was saying viciously to Rafe, who was sitting slumped against the wheel of their car, the left side of his fine suit wet with blood. Rafe was white-faced and sweating as he clutched his shoulder. 

"You're damn lucky he was a fucking lousy shot. I told you not to keep pushing him like that." Henri's tone was harsh and angry, but his hands were gentle as he stripped off his flannel shirt and balled it up to press against Rafe's wound. 

Rafe whispered, "I'm sorry, H... I swear..." 

"Just shut up, will ya." Henri cut Rafe off as he gently pulled his partner into his arms. "Save your breath." 

As he hovered over the two men, Blair could see blood at the corner of Rafe's mouth and the glint of tears in Brown's eyes. 

"You sure he wasn't hit anywhere else?" he asked, relieved to hear sirens in the distance. 

"Yeah, just the shoulder," Henri ground out. "I wouldn't have left him except that bastard kept on shooting and I was afraid he'd clip a bystander. The little shit's accomplice is in the street over there." 

Blair peered around the back of the car to see a man's body sprawled there. "Sheesh, Henri, what kind of mess did you two get yourselves into?" 

The wail of the ambulance drowned out Henri's reply. A few minutes later, Blair and Jim watched him scramble into the ambulance beside Rafe. Then they headed to the truck to make their own way to the hospital. 

* * *

It was after six in the evening by the time Jim and Blair got to the station. They had spent the entire day at the hospital hovering with Henri and running errands for Joel. The bullet had lodged in Rafe's shoulder and had required an operation to remove. Once Rafe was through surgery and pronounced okay, they'd headed out. 

The night shift in Major Crime was so quiet it seemed eerie after the hustle and bustle of the hospital. Wells and her partner, Eva Cruz, were the only detectives in the bull pen and it got even quieter when they went to grab some dinner in the break room. Taggart was back in the office, too, having left the hospital shortly after Jim and Blair. 

"He's on the phone with Simon." Jim informed Blair as they sat down in their adjacent chairs. 

"That's one phone call I'm glad I didn't have to make. Simon's only been gone a day, but hey, it could have been a lot worse. Thank goodness all Rafe is going to be okay with time and some therapy." 

"Henri's going to be a pain in the butt while Rafe's out." Jim commented. "He's mad at Rafe for getting them into that no-win situation." 

"And he's mad at himself for not taking Rafe seriously and letting him get shot." Blair slouched back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "This is so weird. Did I tell you yesterday's lecture was about partnerships and how communication can make or break them?" Blair held up his hand to stay any response Jim might make. "I mean, I know cops tend to tell their partners stuff they don't even tell their S.O.s,.but I didn't realize they _teach_ it to you in the academy." 

"They don't teach it to you in..." Jim started to protest. 

"The hell they don't," Blair turned to look at Jim only to find him sitting at his desk almost exactly as he had been the night before in the loft. Suddenly, Blair had a flash of Jim lounging in his chair, half naked, his boxers down around his knees, his cock hard and ready and waiting. Blair blushed down to his roots and stood up quickly in an effort to change the tableau. 

But Jim stood, too, and leaned in toward Blair, extending a hand toward him. "Chief." Jim's bigger body swayed closer, warm and tantalizing, and Blair felt himself close the gap, his body vibrating like a strung bow. He could feel Jim's breath on his face and Blair knew this was it. Jim was going to kiss him. Right there in the bullpen, where anyone could walk in and see. And Blair didn't care. In fact, he wanted it so bad he could taste it. Jim's lips touched his and... 

"Jim!" It was Henri's voice, cutting through the air, separating Jim and Blair as cleanly as a sword stroke. 

"Shit," Blair hissed as Jim jerked away from him. 

"Henri, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were gonna keep an eye on Rafe." Jim's face was a sea of warring emotions, relief and longing being the two that Blair could read most easily. 

"His mom took over for a bit. I needed to pick up a file. I'm due in court tomorrow on the Jergen's case. Plus, I promised Rafe I'd pick up his toothbrush and stuff from his apartment. Then I'm heading back to the hospital." Henri spoke straight to Jim, but Blair saw how he flicked looks Blair's way. Deciding it was good time to get some distance from the situation, Blair edged away from the two cops, ducked out into the hall and into the restroom. 

When he came back into the bullpen, Henri was gone and Jim was scrubbing at the back of his neck, a sure sign the man was tired and needed to go home. But they had promised William they would meet him here and show him the information they had gleaned from Holden's computer, so they weren't going anywhere for a while. 

Thankfully, William showed up right at seven. The three men sat grouped around Jim's desk and reviewed the tricky file it had taken Blair's computer hacking expertise to open. 

"Okay, Mr. Ellison, this is the last letter the blackmailer sent to Mr. Holden. As you can see it is written in rhyme like the first two." 

William nodded his head as he watched Blair scroll through the note. 

"And this is what we think caused Franklin Holden's death." Blair stopped the cursor at the couplet that read, "Sixty-seven minus twenty-two makes a big problem for you." 

"Oh my god," William brought his hand to his face. "Oh my god," he repeated, much more softly. "I knew about this. They hadn't meant for it to happen. Franklin's brother, Kenneth, had a heart attack, you see, and he was ill for months. Frank told me he had only intended to comfort Kenneth's wife, Sarah, but things went too far. She announced her pregnancy only a few weeks before Kenneth died. Frank never told Julia the truth, he didn't have the heart to, and Sarah was against it, anyhow. But his brother's death allowed Frank to raise his "nephew" almost as if he were his own son." 

"Is there any evidence that Franklin was right about this," Jim asked his father. "Was DNA testing done?" 

William shook his head slowly, "Not that I know of. I think Franklin would have told me if he had." 

"And is there reason to believe Kenneth absolutely couldn't be Benjamin's father?" Jim continued. 

"Hmmm, let me think," the senior Ellison rubbed his brow. "Ken was home for a time before he died. I don't remember the exact details of Benjamin's birth, but no one was suspicious of the timing." 

"So, we really don't know, do we?" Blair pondered. "All we know is that Franklin _thought_ he was Benjamin's father." 

"I never doubted him, but now I realize it could have been either brother." William marveled. 

"And of course, Franklin wouldn't have wanted Julia to know." Blair said softly. 

William shook his head slowly. "No, he loved her very much, and, as far as I know, this was his only indiscretion. Franklin Holden was a good man." 

"I think he died of it, Pop. There's no way we'll ever know for sure, but based on what I saw in Franklin's study, I think he died of fright," Jim said. 

"Died of fright? How odd." William sat quietly for a time before he spoke again. "Do you have any idea who did this?" 

"Well, based on the evidence trail, which is all on Frank's computer, by the way, the only thing I can figure is that it is someone who knows you and Holden pretty well, perhaps someone who belongs to your club." Blair said. 

"My club!" William's eyebrows shot up. 

"Yep," Jim said flatly. 

"Mr. Ellison," Blair began, but stopped when William waved a hand at him. 

"Oh, for Pete's Sake, call me William." 

"William, we plan to keep working at this, but it may take some time. Do you think you could get Julia Holden to allow me access to Franklin's computer?" 

The senior Ellison looked thoughtful. "I think I could arrange that. You know, who ever did this has probably done similar things to others. He's bound to slip up and make himself known eventually. But I can't say I am anxious to have him caught if it means exposing the truth to Julia and Benjamin." 

"A kid should know who his father is." Jim spoke sharply, without really thinking. 

"Should he?" Blair asked and this time it was Jim's eyebrows that went up. "Benjamin knows who loved him best; he knows his uncle was always there for him, doesn't he? Maybe that's all he needs to know." 

Jim and William both looked at Blair for a moment. 

"I think your partner is a wise young man, Jimmy." William Ellison told his son. 

* * *

They ate left-over stew for dinner, splitting the last piece of cornbread between them. Then they sat together on the couch and, by mutual agreement, watched the Discovery Channel instead of a rerun of a Clint Eastwood movie. 

"You know," Jim commented absently during a commercial, "before I met you, I don't think I even knew there was such a thing as the Discovery Channel." 

Blair leaned away from where he had been snuggled against Jim's side and gave his lover a withering look. 

"What?" 

Blair crossed his eyes and laughed. "Before I met you, I don't think I even knew... Do you really want me to finish that statement?" 

"No, I don't think so," Jim chuckled, then grew serious. "Hey, I didn't mean to offend you with that remark about not knowing your father." 

Blair shook his head. "You didn't offend me. But what gets me is how people always seem so convinced they know what is best for someone else. When we're all just muddling through." 

"I have a tendency to muddle through your feelings." Jim admitted with a wince. 

"I've grown a thick skin." Blair sat quietly for a moment and it was obvious he was thinking, not returning his attention to the TV. "You know, Jim, I think your father has changed some since I first met him." 

Jim nodded. "Me too. He's growing old." 

"Well, yes, but there's more to it than that. He seems more open-minded, more willing to accept things as they are." 

"Somehow, Chief, I think his old ways will rear their ugly head when we least expect it." 

"You mean if we tell him about our relationship?" 

"I mean even if we don't." 

"I don't know Jim, look how much William cared about his best friend and partner. So much so that he did a lot to keep his good name intact, even after his death. I think you underestimate your father." 

"Maybe. I know I underestimate you from time to time." Jim shifted on the couch, glazed out the window at the night sky for a bit, then looked back at Blair. 

"Henri will keep his mouth shut," he said finally, "but I think we'll have to talk to him." 

" _We'll_ have to talk to him?" Blair gave Jim his version of the evil eye, raising one eyebrow and regarding him with a narrow gaze. 

Jim threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I give, _I'll_ talk to him." 

"We're going to have to talk to more than just Henri, eventually. I think Joel is beginning to catch on." 

"Maybe we ought to tell Simon first." 

"I'm glad Simon is out of town, because I have no desire whatsoever to rush down to the station tomorrow and announce anything to anyone. Tomorrow, after we've checked on Rafe, of course, I want stay in bed all day and sleep," Blair said as he snuggled back into his place against Jim. 

"Sleep, Sandburg?" Jim whispered as he nuzzled Blair's curls. "You want to stay in bed all day and just sleep?" 

Blair turned and pushed Jim back against the armrest, sprawling over the bigger man as they maneuvered themselves into a comfortable arrangement on the narrow couch. "No," Blair said in his best analytical voice, "maybe not just sleep. I understand eating in bed has its attractions, too." 

Jim started to make a smart-ass comment about eating in bed, but instead he blew softly in Blair's ear, then lightly tongued the ear lobe sans earrings. 

Blair's response was an extremely un-analytical hiss. Jim chuckled again, but it turned into a moan of pleasure as Blair began to kiss him. Jim slid his hands into the raw silk of Blair's hair and sniffed deeply, floating for a moment on the marvelous fragrance of Blair-hair and Blairlust. 

"Are you zoning on my hair?" Blair asked between nips down Jim's sensitive neck. 

"Mmmmm," was all Jim could think to say as Blair slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, licking and kissing him at each intersection of newly revealed flesh. 

When he got to Jim's jeans, Blair sat up astraddle him, sliding down so he had better access to Jim's button and zipper. 

"Hey," Jim got out. "Isn't it my turn to do you?" 

"What," Blair asked as he blew hot breath on Jim's still-clothed crotch. His dick jumped, but it couldn't get any harder. "We taking turns now?" 

"No, I mean, yes... I mean, ahhhh." With his cock now bobbing free and Blair giving it delicate licks, Jim was having trouble staying coherent. 

"You'll just have to owe me one," Blair said between licks, "I think I've found a new profession." 

"And you're always so damn good at everything you do." 

"Yeah, well," Blair took a moment out from what he was doing to look up into Jim's face. "My partner taught me everything I know." 

Jim would have laughed, but Blair went back to work and he couldn't find the breath for it. 

And then... and then the phone began to ring. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
